


Not in this Alone

by Danudane



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mandalorian S2, Reunion, The kid gets two Mando-dads, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:09:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27449158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Danudane/pseuds/Danudane
Summary: Din needs all the help he can get, as he continues his search for the kid’s people. Little did he know, he would end up finding one of his own.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Paz Vizsla, din/paz
Comments: 13
Kudos: 257
Collections: Movies





	Not in this Alone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bluebells](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebells/gifts).



> ((You can thank Bluebells for getting me to finally post this.  
> Basically I wanted to explore how season 2 might have played out if Paz had joined Din. Scenes will be changed accordingly, but I expect this to follow the canon events to some degree.))

Din sets out a plan before him. Find other Mandalorians, and he may find the child’s people.

It’s a shot in the dark, but Din has always been confident with his aim.

The rumors lead him to a not-so-distant planet. And then his search narrows to a crime-ridden, seedy little city.

Graffiti covers nearly every inch of exposed walls and buildings. Rough renditions of storm troopers and droids alike are plastered across the exteriors.

Din hardly pays much attention to them, despite the way they capture the kid’s attention.

He doesn’t do much to acknowledge the deep growls and numerous glowing red eyes that peek out from every dark corner and opening. His attention is singular.

“I’m here to see Gor Koresh.” It’s the only explanation he gives to the doorman, but it gets him inside.

Din makes his way down through the stands, ignoring the fighting Gamorreans still swinging at each other in the ring.

The audience around him is made up of every kind and creed, but Din knows his mark is an Abyssin. It’s not just the single eye that makes Gor stand out amongst the crowd, but the detail of bodyguards that surround him as well.

Din is not concerned by any of them, but he notes their presence none the less.

He sits beside Gor, who seems to be expecting him, and gets straight to the point. His conversation is brief, but direct. He tells Gor of his current quest, and then mentions his own kind.

“If I can locate other Mandalorians, they can help guide me.” He pauses, but only briefly. “I’m told you know where to find them.”

The Abyssin seems to have other priorities, turning his attention back to the brawling Gamorreans, and suggesting Din do the same.

Din’s gaze hardly leaves Gor, however, and he grows impatient as the Abyssin once more ignores their talk of “business” to speak of the fighting happening in front of them.

“Do you gamble, Mando?” Gor speaks again, leaning in slightly, as an ugly smirk spreads across his face.

“Not when it can be avoided.” Din answers plainly, hoping Gor will drop the subject.

He doesn’t, and laughs darkly for good measure.

“Well, I’ll bet you the information you seek that his Gamorrean’s going to die within the next minute and a half. And all you have to put up in exchange is your shiny beskar armor.” Gor’s single eye gives the set currently sitting beside him a once over, as he waits for Din’s answer.

Din’s heard the premise before, it’s tiresome, and so he quickly changes the subject. “I’m prepared to pay you for the information. I’m not leaving my fate up to chance.”

“Nor am I.” Gor’s attention immediately switches back to the Gamorreans, and he pulls the blaster from his hip to fire a single shot—dead center—into the chest of the opposing Gamorrean combatant. It squeals and falls, dead before it hits the floor.

Din turns as well, they seemed at a stalemate. It was a long moment of silence before Gor’s expression darkens and he smirks again.

“Looks like we’ll need a new combatant. I wonder if you’d be willing to bet on /this/ one.”

Din’s brow furrows beneath his helmet. What was Gor up to? “I don’t have time for this—” Din’s voice is gruff, and he is starting to lose his patience.

The kid, who has been sitting quietly in the floating pram, utters a worried coo.

“Now, just wait a moment—” Gor signals towards the doorway, where more combatants are led in. “Bring him in! The big one!” He calls to the enforcers.

Din doesn’t even spare a gaze sideways. His focus is—discretely— on Gor’s bodyguards, as they are starting to get fidgety.

It’s not until Gor settles and /insists/ that Din turn his gaze, when he finally does.

And the sight that greets him is both relieving and infuriating at the same time.

It’s another Mandalorian, forced into the ring to fight a rigged battle. But Din would recognize that armor anywhere, and he feels his chest constrict so tight that his breath goes raspy under his helmet. /Paz/.

At least he thinks it’s Paz. The height and build are right, but the prideful, undaunted stance and stature that the man used to carry is wavering. He can see tatters and tears in the underclothes from his seat, and it’s all he can do not to unleash his full fury in one fell swoop.

For all Din knows, however, this could just be another fighter in Paz’s armor. And yet, imagining Paz Vizsla being separated from it is no less painful.

His fists ball up, and he goes very quiet. A single moment of clarity before he strikes.

“Nah-ah—” Gor briefly waves a small device in front of Din’s visor. “—Now before you try anything, just know I have this all under control. Quite literally.” Gor scoots backwards a bit, for good measure, as he explains.

“You see I always keep a little leverage. That collar the big guy is wearing? One press of this button and it’s lights out. For good.” Gor’s thumb hovers over the black button. There’s a red one above it, but Din doesn’t have to wait long to figure out what that one means.

“And if the combatants don’t cooperate?” Gor’s thumb moves over the red button. “Then I just give them a little nudge in the right direction.”

Din tenses again, knowing he /could/ pull the device from Gor’s hands, but the hint of movement brings four different blasters to point blank range. One of them is Gor’s own, the end of the barrel resting against Din’s neck.

Din side-eyes Paz, who has stood defiantly still in the ring. Even the Gamorrean looks hesitant to approach.

Gor’s response is swift, and he presses the button.

The collar around Paz’s neck lights up with a blue, static energy. The effect is instant and the electric shock courses through Paz, his muscles shuddering and spasming and causing a set of full body tremors.

Paz drops to a knee and takes a moment, chest heaving, as he sluggishly grabs for the fallen Gamorrean’s axe.

“This Mando has been quite the asset. People pay well to see him fight. A legendary Mandalorian, capable of taking hits, and dishing out twice what he gets.” Gor goes on, even as Din seethes beneath his helmet.

“But the novelty will eventually wear off. Or he’ll die. One way or another.” Gor shrugs. “And to think, I made him believe he’d keep his precious armor as long as he kept winning...” Gor presses the blaster a little more firmly against Din’s neck.

“Either way, look what it got me. Not one set of beskar armor, but /two/. You know how m—”

“Enough.” Din’s voice is pure venom, low and dangerous.

“I thought you said you weren’t a gambler.” Gor answers, as his and the other blasters trained on the Mando are primed.

“I’m not.” Din activates the whistling birds, and in one swift movement, the bodyguards are all dead and Gor’s blaster is knocked aside.

The kid, who had sensed danger coming, retreated into his pram. The sides had closed up over top with the push of a button and the pram was kicked aside, away from danger.

Din made quick work of the others that had come to Gor’s aid. His rage needed an outlet, and these fools were the ones on the receiving end. The last two fell, dead before they even crumpled to the ground, a vibro-knife wound to each of their chests.

As soon as the last foe dropped, Din’s attention turned to the ring.

Paz was there, swaying unsteadily as his legs threatened to give out.

Din’s vibro-knife made quick work of the ropes around the ring’s edge, and he stepped up to catch a hold of Paz.

They both want to get the kriffing collar off him as soon as possible.

“The control...” Paz forces, his voice hoarse and uncharacteristically weak.

Din does not take long to locate the device, discarded carelessly in Gor’s panic. Had the Abyssin kept the device, he might have posed a threat. Now he was just scrambling out the back door like a scared womp rat.

“He’ll get away.” Paz speaks again, leaning heavier on Din than either of them want to acknowledge.

“No he won’t.” Din’s rage has not dispersed completely, and it won’t until the Abyssin is dead or dying. He takes another moment to disengage the collar, and it clicks, popping open and tumbling harmlessly to the ground with a clatter.

Din can see the burns and abrasions that make a angry, red, discolored ring around Paz’s neck. He’ll spare some bacta when they get back to the Crest.

“I can walk.” Paz tries to regain his posture, but the rest of his body is slow to cooperate.

“Come on.” Din does not argue with the man, instead urging him onward as he serves as a steadying force.

They find Gor tripping over himself in a hurry to try and get away.

It’s decidedly far too late for the Abyssin, however, and soon finds himself face down in the dirt with a grappling cable looped around his legs.

He’s pulled back with a surprising force, and hoisted upside down until he is hanging just so from a lamp post.

In a desperate attempt to save himself, he blurts out more than Din expected to hear.

Din approaches, having left Paz and the kid—still closed up in his pram— by the wall just outside the doorway. He knows the Abyssin’s death belongs to Paz, but there is a much deserved end coming for the crime-lord that will buy more time for their escape.

“Wait-” Gor starts, even as Din closes in with malice. “Wait!!” He swings slightly from the lamppost, and tries to catch his breath. “I know of another Mandalorian. On Ta—” Gor stops himself from giving too much away. “If you promise not to kill me, I’ll tell you where and how to find him!”

“I promise you will not die by my hand.” Din replies, as much as he hates to.

Gor Koresh stays quiet a moment longer, his gaze turning to his previous combatant still leaning against the wall.

“Or his.” Din doesn’t need to look over to understand the Abyssin’s hesitation.

He also knows he’ll be readying an apology to Paz.

But at this point, he just wants to get the three of them off this planet as soon as possible.

“The Mandalorian I know of is on Tatooine. A city—Mos Pelgo.” Gor admits, with a huff. He thinks this information will save him.

It won’t.

Din has half a mind to question the Abyssin, but he’s got his information. He may not have heard of any other Mandalorians on Tatooine before, but it’s their best lead.

He collects Paz from the side of the building, and takes one last look at the still hanging Abyssin before shooting the light out over him.

“Wait, Mando! You can’t leave me like this!” Gor sways and swings and flails desperately, but to no avail.

They linger just long enough to hear the panic setting in as the now darkened area comes alive with the growls and red-eyed creatures from before. They don’t stay, as the pleas and promises to pay them credits quickly morph into pained screams. They know the creatures will end him, perhaps not as slowly as he deserves, but it’s all the consolation they will get.

——

The walk back to the Crest takes longer than Din expects.

Paz is walking, but neither of them can say for how much longer.

The kid floats along side them in his pram, letting out a small whimper when Paz’s boot catches a rock and he stumbles.

Din stays quiet and simply readjusts his grip on Paz’s arm and waist. It’s not the time for quips and unneeded banter.

He pretends not to notice the huffing and wheezing breaths that filter through Paz’s modulator.

“Almost there.” Din finally speaks, as the Crest looms into view. He opens the bay door remotely and they manage to make it up the ramp before Paz’s legs finally give out.

Din feels it coming and widens his stance, taking Paz’s weight before easing him to the grated floor of the ship.

“Paz—” Din closes the ramp behind them, and then crouches in front of the other Mandalorian.

“I’ll be fine.” His voice is gruff, and still sounds strained. He slumps back against the wall, beskar clinking audibly as his head lolls back.

“Yeah?” Din’s helmet cocks to the side, and he reaches out to touch a shredded section of Paz’s undershirt. His sleeve is torn in several places and there are shallow gashes already scabbing over. The skin is bruised around the wounds.

“And right now?” Din adds, more concerned that Paz doesn’t pull away when his hand moves up to tug the collar of his flight suit down.

The movement exposes the burn marks around Paz’s neck again, and the anger Din had felt previously quickly boils back up within him. It was clear he had been shocked repeatedly, and Din is regretting not making Gor’s death a little more personal.

“I need rest.” Paz admits, and the reply pulls Din from his thoughts.

“Let me at least put some bacta on that.” Din gently lifts Paz’s chin, seeing the full extent of the damaged. There are patches of burnt skin in the worst spots, while the rest of it is red and raw.

“Fine.” Paz relents, and can feel himself losing his battle with consciousness. It’s hard enough to keep his eyes open at this point. His breathing slows and he gives in to sleep, but only because he knows he is safe now.

Din is not gone long, as it’s a short walk to retrieve the med-kit, but he can tell Paz is already asleep by the time he returns.

The kid has climbed down out of his pram and approached Paz’s sleeping form. He guides himself up towards Paz’s side, supporting himself on the armor that covers Paz’s legs.

“Come on, kid. Let him sleep.” Din plucks the kid away, and puts him back in the pram. He slips off his gloves and tucks them under his arm as he pulls a swab like applicator and covers it in a generous amount of bacta gel.

“Beh—” The little one coos, ears perking up slightly before drooping again.

“Bacta.” Din repeats. He takes a small glob of it on his finger and holds it out to the kid.

“Don’t eat it.” He warns, watching as curiosity fills the kid’s eyes as he reaches for the glob.

The kid squeezes the gel and some slips through his clawed hands. It distracts him, though, as Din had hoped it would. The cooling, tingling sensation earns a small giggle, and Din can’t help but smile briefly, before turning back to Paz.

He is careful not to wake the other man, gently applying the bacta to all the burns around Paz’s neck. At this point, however, he’s not sure much of anything could rouse Paz, as the larger man does not flinch once while Din attends to the wounds. On closer inspection, he finds a few other shallow gashes from hits that had slipped past or between Paz’s armor.

There is no other indication Paz is hiding any worse wounds, and so he forgoes unravelling the roll of bandages and wondering where to start.

Din pauses another moment, after putting the remaining medical supplies back into the kit. He supposes Paz will have just as many questions for him as he does for Paz. Most of them will not be easy to answer— not for either of them.

It comes to him, now, that Paz no longer dons the hefty repeating blaster he had long carried. The weapon carried just as much presence as Paz, and its loss will be a sore subject, of that Din is sure. He regrets not checking Gor Koresh’s compound more thoroughly, but if it comes to it, he will not apologize for prioritizing their escape.

The child is smearing bacta between both clawed hands now, burbling and chirping as he plays with the strange substance.

Din passes a glance, but his focus returns to Paz once more. He knows he can’t risk a jump into hyperspace now, lest he send the other man tumbling around the near-empty hull. They’ll have to bide some time, and set a slower pace. Din feels conflicted, but knows his options are limited. For now, he decides to try and make Paz more comfortable.

The stash of towels and blankets he keeps is meager at best, and Din wishes he had spent a few extra credits while he’d had the chance. They were intended for the child, not a heavy infantry Mandalorian, but it’s all he has at the moment. Well, that and a currently unused section cargo netting. If he’s lucky, Paz won’t complain about the lingering smell of blurrg on it.

Din considers wrapping it around Paz and securing him to the wall so he won’t slump over. He drops the idea when he considers how the other man would come to; waking up in an unfamiliar place while being tied down and unable to move.

A makeshift bed is the next best option, and Din gets to layering the now repurposed bedding. It’s spread thin to accommodate Paz’s large form, but it’s better than sleeping on and against metal.

Din eventually returns to the cockpit, once Paz is settled and secure, laid out on the floor. The larger man had stirred briefly when he was eased down against the softer materials but still did not wake.

Placing the kid in the seat beside him, he works quickly now to fire up the engines and get off the planet before any more trouble comes knocking.

With practised ease, he flips switches and pushes levers until the engines come roaring to life.

He reaches over and scoops up the kid once more, setting him on his lap so he doesn’t fall out of the seat. Silently, Din wonders if the child will ever be big enough to fill the seat enough to see over the dash, but it’s a thought for later.

The Crest rises slowly and steadily, and at far less of an incline and angle than they would normally leave a planet’s surface. The gentle retreat back into space proves successful, however, as Din does not hear anything shift below in the hull.

Din had returned the child to the seat beside him, and handed him a small dust rag to wipe the bacta off his claws. Some had likely absorbed harmlessly into his skin, while the rest did not need to be smeared anywhere else.

The kid seemed to grasp the idea, however loosely, and gripped the cloth with both hands. It wasn’t long before this became another game, and the little one began waving the dust cloth around in self-entertainment.

Din settled into pilot mode, checking scanners and frequencies. No incoming messages from Cara or Greef. No nearby distress signals. It was all quiet, surprisingly enough.

They’ve been flying for some time when Din realizes the kid has gone awfully quiet.

It’s not unlike the child to fall asleep, with only the low, rumbling roar of the engines to lull him. When Din looks over, however, he sees the kid has disappeared completely.

Sometimes, Din is still unsure of how the kid manages to be so sneaky.

A quick check of the cockpit turns up nothing, and Din wonders if this is another impromptu game of hide-and-seek.

“Hey, kid?” Din calls quietly, but receives no answer. The little womp-rat must have gotten down into the hull again.

With a sigh, he descends the ladder, and touches down with a small thud. His helmet turns towards the still unconscious form of Paz, who lays motionless aside from the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

Din almost misses the sight, but when he sees it, his shoulders go slack.

The child is nestled into the crook of Paz’s arm, cradled in one of the few spaces that beskar doesn’t completely cover.

Something stirs in Din’s chest, though he won’t let himself admit it. It’s a strange warmth. A yearning he didn’t know he was capable of. There are a mix of other emotions as well, ones he doesn’t bother to acknowledge just yet.

He simply takes a moment to watch them, etch the scene into his mind and commit it to memory. He wonders how many peaceful moments like this any of them might get again soon. For the child’s sake, he hopes it is more.

Din has half a mind to leave the kid there. He knows the little one could use some rest, but at the same time it is not worth the risk. If Paz were to wake up with a start, or worse yet in a panic, the child could easily be injured. And so, Din makes the decision to pull the little one from the crook of Paz’s arm, quietly shushing his ad’ika when he makes a sleepy whine in protest.

“You can meet him when he wakes.” Din promises, sparing one more glance at Paz, before returning to the cockpit with the now slumbering child.

Din lays the little one back down into the padded carrier, and wraps a small blanket over top of him before returning to the controls. His sensors and projectors say they’re just over a day out, if he doesn’t use the hyperdrive. It’s a risk he does not normally take. Traveling sub-space invites its own kind of troubles, and none of them are welcome on a good day. With Paz in his current state, Din can’t count on him if things were to go sideways.

He’s going to have to keep them under the radar and hope for the best.


End file.
